


Hope of Your Return

by potooyoutoo



Series: Jedi Advisor AU [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Past Abuse, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, coming to terms with emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22864528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potooyoutoo/pseuds/potooyoutoo
Summary: 69 BBY - A job goes wrong and Kal is forced to leave Walon behind in Death Watch’s hands, forcing the two of them to start coming to terms with their changing relationship.
Relationships: Kal Skirata/Walon Vau
Series: Jedi Advisor AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643533
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Hope of Your Return

**Author's Note:**

> First off, a hundred thousand thank yous to the wondrous [CasualThursday](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CasualThursday/pseuds/CasualThursday) for being an amazing editor, co-plotter, and overall good sport about my ridiculous obsession with these fools.
> 
> Second, there's quite a bit of Mando'a in this, most of which was enabled by the fantastic [mandoa.org](http://mandoa.org/) which is an amazing resource for anyone interested in cool made up languages.
> 
> Lastly, for some context, this fic is part of a wider AU in which the True Mandalorians made an alliance with the Galactic Republic which included having a chosen Jedi Advisor appointed to work with the Mand’alor. Not a lot of that actually impacts this fic, but the timeline for the AU overall does affect certain character ages and whatnot.

Blaster fire streaked past Kal’s cheek, sending a spray of sparks off the beskar. They were pinned down and the battle was not going in their favor. How had Death Watch known they would be here? Were they set up? Thoughts flew through his mind as their group beat a hasty retreat towards the shuttle. To his left, Vau was firing with deadly accuracy, covering their backs as Bralor worked on the airlock.

“We need to go! Now!”

One by one, they started ducking back into the ship, making a break for it, and for a moment, Kal thought they might actually make it. Just as Ahni made her way onto the ship, a stray blaster bolt from one of the Death Watch fighters hit the airlock controls, setting off a screeching alarm as the doors began to slide shut. Before Kal could even react, Vau was taking a step forward, planting a hand firmly against Kal’s breastplate and  _ shoving _ . Kal tumbled back with a shout just before the airlock shut, scrambling back to his feet with a feeling of dread. Flinging himself at the now firmly sealed airlock, he watched through the viewport as Vau continued to trade blaster fire with Death Watch. Desperately opening a comm channel, Kal shouted, “Vau, you shabla son of a karking--!”

“Shove it, Skirata.” Vau’s voice sounded cool and even, despite the dire circumstances. “Your boys need you. Manda knows they’d be a nightmare for whoever got saddled with them if you died.”

“That’s not the kriffing point!”

“Skirata.” Kal watched as Vau’s buy’ce turned to look back at the airlock, and he could almost see Vau’s infuriating smirk. “Ret’urcye mhi.”

“NO!” Kal slammed his fist against the airlock just as Bralor pulled the ship away, angling towards a clear point in space where they could make their jump. “Walon!”

But the commlink was silent.

\--

Walon was fairly certain that Death Watch wasn’t known for taking prisoners, so it was quite the surprise when he woke, vision swimming and head groggy. Blinking a few times, he managed to clear his sight enough to make out his general surroundings. He seemed to be in some sort of cargo hold, arms bound securely behind his back and armor noticeably absent.  _ Skirata would have a field day. I can practically hear the lecture now. _ The thought came with an unfamiliar twist in his gut, one Walon found both perplexing and annoying. He didn’t regret shoving Skirata through the airlock, and he’d meant what he’d said about Skirata’s little gremlins. Still… there was something bitter about watching Skirata practically claw his way back through the airlock just to get to Walon.  _ And what was with his voice?  _ Skirata had almost sounded like some sort of holodrama heroine shouting after her love interest.

That line of thinking was cut off as the door to the cargo hold slid open with a hiss, revealing two men in full beskar’gam, buy’ce held at their sides. Walon had been to enough briefings to recognize the first, his maroon and black armor hard to misplace: Sar Vizsla. The other man was not familiar, his armor a vivid scarlet and his expression cocky and more than a little unhinged.  _ Guess it’s my lucky day _ .

“You’ve caused us quite a bit of trouble, but we may yet have some use for you,” Sar began, his voice cold and dismissive in a way that reminded Walon of his own father, doing nothing to improve the man in Walon’s regard.

“Really? I wasn’t aware Death Watch had use for prisoners. Kind of ruins the whole intimidating effect of the name, you know.” The boot to the face wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it did make Walon see stars as he spit out a mouthful of blood. “Right,” he coughed, “So that’s how this is going to go.”

“You will be  _ silent _ unless you are answering a question.”

“Never was good at keeping my mouth shut.” Walon was ready for it this time, rocking back on the balls of his feet to let the kick sail just past his nose, sending Sar slightly off balance. Shooting the Death Watch commander a bloody smirk, Walon just shrugged, satisfied with the rage in the man’s beady eyes.

Turning to the other man, Sar snapped, “Priest, get what you can from him. If he decides to be... _ difficult _ , you’re free to do as you please with him.” After shooting Walon a dark look, Sar made his way over to one of the cargo bins, scooping up whatever had been resting there. The familiar sound of beskar plates bumping against each other sent a spike of dread and anger through Walon’s stomach, but he refused to let it show, watching silently as Sar carried his armor towards the door. With a sneer, Sar said, “I’ll be taking this. I do so hate seeing good Mando’ade beskar in the hands of filthy aruetiise.”

Once the sound of Sar’s footsteps faded, Priest turned towards Walon, blue eyes gleaming with a madness Walon was overly familiar with. “Well now,” Priest practically crooned, stalking towards Walon as he withdrew a nasty-looking serrated vibroblade from his gauntlet, “shall we get a little better acquainted?”

\--

Kal sat motionless in the ship’s cramped crew’s quarters, mind replaying the final moments of their escape in nauseatingly vivid detail. The rest of the squad had tactfully steered clear of him when Bralor demanded a report after they’d made it into hyperspace. Rav Bralor might be a hardass most days, but even she could be sympathetic to the internal struggle Kal was facing right now. Now, though, an almost sickeningly gentle hand gave his forearm a short squeeze, jerking him roughly out of his thoughts.

“We’re back.” Ahni’s voice was low and even, tinged with a kindness that Kal had always thought contrasted alarmingly with her capacity for violence. “Captain Bralor wants us to meet with the Mand’alor for a debrief.”

That grabbed Kal’s attention. Normally, they’d do a short contract debrief when the job was done, but only on rare occasions did Krom actually oversee the proceedings, trusting her captains to run their squads.  _ Then again _ , Kal thought as he stood to follow Ahni off the ship,  _ most jobs don’t end with a man abandoned in enemy hands. _ The feeling of hollow guilt only grew as they made their way through the Keldabe spaceport towards one of the contract depots. The rest of the squad were arranged around the room when they arrived, beskar still roughed up from the fight and helmets set to the side. Bralor stood at the head of the table, Krom leaning against the wall behind her. Kal couldn’t even bring himself to look at either of them as he sat, eyes cast down like a child who knew what he had done wrong.

Mercifully, Bralor gave the debrief in her usual, no-nonsense manner, running through what happened, what decisions had been good, which had been bad, and what they could have done better. She focused mainly on the actual contract work, giving surprisingly minimal attention to the Death Watch ambush which had cut the job short. Kal figured she’d be running through that intel with Krom in a one-on-one debrief later. Surprisingly, Bralor wrapped the meeting up without even mentioning Vau, stirring the beginnings of outrage and shame in Kal’s chest as the rest of the crew filed out of the room after being dismissed. Ahni shot Kal a wan smile just as Bralor called, “Skirata, stay a moment.”

Once the room was clear except for Kal, Bralor, and Krom, the Mand’alor spoke. “Rav’ika told me what happened, Kal, but I wanted to hear your report firsthand.”

Swallowing thickly, Kal squared his shoulders and stood at attention, staring at a point just to the left of Krom’s head as he began. “We were making a tactical retreat to the ship once Death Watch sprung their ambush. Vau and I were covering the retreat so Captain Bralor could get the airlock open. While everyone was making it back to the ship, a stray blaster bolt hit the airlock controls. Wa--Vau pushed me through just before the doors sealed. He… He told me to go.” Kal had to stop there, throat suddenly dry and words faltering.

“Kal’ika,” Krom’s tone was gentle, and Kal was only vaguely aware of Bralor silently leaving the room as Krom reached out and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I need you to look at me.”

It took a momentous amount of will for Kal to force himself to do just that, staring with wide, panicked eyes into Krom’s steady gaze. In a voice he barely recognized as his own, Kal whispered, “They don’t take prisoners.”

“You cannot think that way, Kal. I need you to calm down and think this through.”

“I don’t--” Kal’s breath caught, and he suddenly felt as if he couldn’t pull any air into his lungs, “I--I… He’s…”

Krom’s expression grew serious as she firmly guided him to a seated position and began to steadily guide him through a familiar breathing exercise. “That’s it, Kal. Keep breathing. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. Focus on me.”

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, but as his breathing began to even out and the vice-like grip on his chest seemed to ease, Kal suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of shame. What kind of warrior was he supposed to be if he broke down like this? None of them had the luxury of losing concentration; he could end up getting someone hurt or killed if he lost focus during a job. “Krom, I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you start with that dikut’la ‘I should be stronger than this’ osik. We are Mando’ade because we feel so deeply, so strongly. And at times, it can be overwhelming. That is not a weakness, it’s a simple truth.” Krom smiled gently at him. “I know you and Walon have a… complicated history, but I’m also not blind. It’s been six years, Kal. That  _ means _ something, even if neither of you knows how to approach it. Am I right?” Her voice was soft, but knowing, catching Kal’s eye as she raised her eyebrow. 

It wasn’t something that either he or Vau spoke about often, that night when they’d spoken the marriage vows to one another in a moment of drunken… something. To this day, Kal wasn’t sure why he’d done it, why Vau had reciprocated. Few outside of their closest circle knew, and everyone politely steered clear of bringing it up unless absolutely necessary. Still, over the last six years, their relationship had been slowly changing. That much Kal could admit to himself, even if he still wasn’t quite sure entirely  _ how _ it had changed. Thinking back to that last moment, to Walon’s solemnly resigned goodbye, Kal knew that he wasn’t ready to let him go just yet.

Not trusting himself to speak, Kal simply nodded.

Seemingly satisfied, Krom sat back, giving him a hard look, “So the question is, what are we going to do to get your riduur back?”

\--

Walon was not a stranger to pain, but it had been over a decade since he’d been at the mercy of his father’s pitiless rage and he was clearly out of practice. He’d spent his entire childhood building up walls and defences to keep himself safe and relatively sane while enduring his parents’ abuse. Now, as he felt the searing agony of Priest’s knife tearing its way through his flesh, Walon wondered where all those defenses had gone.  _ It’s probably Skirata’s fault, shabla bleeding heart. All his trust and family nonsense must have rubbed off on me. _

“Tsk tsk. Don’t go dissociating on me now! We’re having so much fun!”

Since Walon had been placed in the tender care of Dred Priest, he’d learned more than he cared to about the man’s sadistic nature. Priest had started by asking questions, but when it was clear Walon wasn’t going to talk, he’d been more than happy to torture him for the hell of it. Walon had been called a psychopath before, but his particular brand of crazy paled in comparison to Priest who seemed to get off on the act of carving up unwilling sentients. Walon wasn’t a stranger to pain and his tolerance for it was actually quite high, all things considered, but Priest was dangerously close to pushing him past his limit. Mustering as much spite as he could, Walon spat out a mouthful of blood, chuckling as he smirked in that way that always got under Skirata’s skin. “My bad. Certainly don’t want to spoil your fun.”

Too gentle fingertips lifted Walon’s chin so he was forced to stare into Priest’s manic eyes, flecks of Walon’s own blood decorating the man’s pale face. “Now there’s a good boy. Don’t think I didn’t notice how much you seemed to be liking our earlier games.” The leer on Priest’s face as he brushed fingers slowly along Walon’s jawline made Walon’s stomach threaten to revolt.

_ This isn’t how I want it _ .

The thought was as jarring as it was sobering. In the years since he’d met Skirata, Walon had done his best to distance  _ feelings _ from whatever strange sexual tension they seemed to share. But there were some things even Walon couldn’t deny to himself. Walon was almost hyperaware that neither of them had made any sort of attempt to annul their drunken marriage, and that he was increasingly interested in Skirata’s happiness and wellbeing. Not to mention that he took far too much pleasure in riling Skirata up to the point that the other man would be more than happy to take a swing at Walon. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Walon got off on pain and being hurt, and yes, maybe that was a little fucked up considering his childhood, but he knew now that he wanted  _ control _ over how it happened. He wanted to trust the person hurting him to know his limits. He wanted it to be an act of  _ love. _

Walon had slowly been coming to terms with this realization for years; years of Skirata and Bralor and Krom and Askar trying to convince him that maybe he wasn’t just a waste of oxygen and that it was possible for someone to give a damn about him outside of his usefulness to them. And now Skirata had four little kids to look out for and Walon actually  _ liked _ the brats and it was all so  _ domestic _ he wasn’t sure what to do. This was not how he had seen his life turning out when he’d been taken in by the Haat Mando’ade.

Well, not that any of that mattered now.

The knife was back, digging deep into his skin and stealing the breath from his lungs. Priest had been working on that particular area for a while now, but Walon was a little too delirious to figure out what Priest was carving. Panting as his vision swam, Walon tried to focus on something, eyes landing on the blood-slicked durasteel floor of the cargo hold.  _ Kriff, that’s a lot of blood _ . The reds and greys began to blur, shifting darker and darker until there was only the pain and then darkness.

\--

Three hours later, Kal left Krom in the meeting room, hurrying through the darkening streets. Some of his earlier panic had subsided now that they had a plan for retrieving Vau, but the underlying anxiety still remained. Krom had told him to take an hour or two to see his boys and gather his gear before they would head out, and Kal felt his heart ache as he approached the humble little house he called home. He’d bought the place after realizing that his little apartment was definitely not going to fit all his boys, and not a month later, Vau was moving into the place just next door. At first, Kal thought the chakaar had done it just to mess with him, but now… He wasn’t so sure.

Slipping into the house, Kal immediately registered the low murmur of voices coming from the living room and turned in that direction. He kept his footsteps soft, pausing in the doorway as he watched his boys playing. Jaster, a much better babysitter than Kal or Vau ever were, was sitting on the couch beside Mereel, conversation paused as they graciously accepting a model ship that little A’den handed them. Ordo, meanwhile, was cautiously overseeing Jaing as he played shig-party with Mird. The sight of the strill, Vau’s most beloved companion, happily and patiently allowing the little four-year-old to shove tiny plastoid cups in its face sent conflicting waves of warmth and heartache through Kal. Unable to bear it, he stepped into the room, forced smile in place. “Adike.”

All four of his boys leapt to their feet, mixed shouts of “Buir!” and “Kal’buir!” filling the air as they ran to hug him. Ruffling their hair, Kal let himself have this moment, reveling in the pure love that he felt for these boys. Eventually, they pulled back, Mereel, Ordo, and A’den climbing onto the couch, while Jaing clung to Kal’s pant leg, big dark eyes considering his father with a knowing look.

“Buir, where’s ba’Vaudu?”

It was such a simple, innocent question, but it nearly broke Kal’s heart. Catching Jaster’s far too perceptive eye, Kal turned to scoop Jaing up into his arms, sparing one glance to Mird. The strill seemed to have picked up on Kal’s anxiety, it’s golden eyes sharp and knowing. “Vau couldn’t come back with us. He made sure that I could make it back to you boys, but to do that, he had to stay behind.”

Mereel’s brows furrowed at that, small frown on his face. “He’s not… dead… is he?”

Kal shook his head, not trusting himself to respond. In Kal’s arms, Jaing put his little fists on his hips, face screwed up with all the seriousness a four-year-old could muster. “Well, you gotta go get him, buir! Or Mird’ika’ll be sad.”

“Yeah!” A’den piped up, jumping to his feet on the couch cushion, gesturing with the toy blaster that rarely left his hand. “You gotta blow up all the bad guys and swoop him up in your ship and fly away and then he’ll know you gotta do the riduurok and we can have  _ two _ buirs!”

Before Kal could respond to  _ that _ , Mereel whacked his brother with an annoyed sigh. “Di’kut, Kal’buir and ba’Vaudu already  _ did _ the riduurok.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yeah-huh! Ba’vodu Rav told me!”

Oh, Kal was going to  _ kill _ that meddlesome shabuir when he got back, but right now, he could only feel the slow easing of his anxiety. His boys believed in him, so he’d better believe in himself too. Smiling and shaking his head, Kal passed Jaing to Jaster as both joined the stirring debate between Mereel and A’den and turned to Mird. Holding a hand out to the creature, Kal let Mird nuzzle his palm, giving it a few good scritches around its neck folds. “We’re gonna get him back, Mird’ika. You ready for a hunt?”

\--

“I’ve got a little surprise for you today!”

Walon was very much over this whole situation. After passing out the day before, Walon had awoken to Priest gently bandaging the very injuries he’d made. The contrast with his previous behavior was disarming and disconcerting in a way that Walon’s sleep deprived and emotionally raw brain could not quite handle. For the rest of the evening, words had been beyond him as he simply allowed Priest to do what he wanted, which appeared to be tending to all of Walon’s medical needs. In Priest’s own words, “Wouldn’t want you leaving us too soon, now would we?”

Today, it seemed Priest was back on his bantha-osik, walking into the cargo hold with a few different items in his hands. From this angle, Walon couldn’t quite make out what they were, but the dull sheen on a few definitely implied leather, which was  _ not _ a comforting thought. Sighing, Walon fixed Priest with a tired glare and offered only a half-hearted, “Yipee.”

“Oh, come now, pet. Don’t be like that.” Crouching down so he was eye-level with Walon, Priest grinned, reaching forward to grab Walon’s chin and force his face up to make eye contact. Thumb reaching up to brush against Walon’s lips in a sickening mockery of tenderness, Priest continued, “You know what I think? I think it’s about time I  _ break _ you. I mean, you’ve got quite the impressive resolve, you’ve proven that over and over. But I can’t deny, the idea of watching all that carefully constructed bravado just... _ crumble away _ …” He shivered, eyes manic and pupils a little too dilated. “It really gets me going. So? Where should we start?”

_ Never thought I’d actually wish that Sar karking Vizsla would have just killed me and gotten it over with _ , Walon thought as Priest stood, letting him sag once more in his chains. While Priest busied himself by the cargo container Walon had come to think of as his “workbench,” Walon thought over all the possible ways he could kill himself just to deny Priest the satisfaction. A muffled boom, followed by a crashing shriek, drew both their attention; Walon’s brows furrowed in confusion and Priest’s face twisted in irritation. With a sigh, Priest set down whatever he’d been preparing, tapping his commlink and snapping, “This is Priest. What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a situation, sir!” came the reply, the unmistakable sound of blaster fire coming through in the background.

“What  _ kind _ of situation?!”

“We’ve been boarded! They’re--” The transmission cut off mid-sentence and Walon wanted so badly to laugh at the way Priest’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

Muttering to himself, Priest marched back towards the door, checking his blasters as he went before calling back, “You sit tight, pet. I’ll be back.”

The next few moments seemed to pass in slow motion. As the door slid open, Priest stepped into the hallway, the sound of blaster fire alarmingly close. Red bolts flew past Priest’s head and he turned to look toward the shooter. As Walon watched, Priest’s eyes widened, mouth open in surprise just as something large and snarling plowed directly into him, slamming the commando bodily to the ground. The sound of impossibly familiar growls mixed with Priest’s dying shrieks before all suddenly fell silent.

“Oya, Mird! Find Walon! Oya!”

He must have been dreaming. It was the only explanation Walon could come up with as he watched Mird, its snout and chest covered in blood, stalk into the open cargo hold, followed closely by a man in gold beskar’gam. Immediately upon entering the room, Mird made its way to Walon, whining as it nosed at his face and chest. Close on the strill’s heels, tearing off his helmet and practically collapsing to his knees before Walon, Skirata reached out, expression distressingly emotional.

“You son of a kriffing banthafucker, what did they do to you? Are you okay? Walon, can you hear me?”

“Could probably hear a lot better if you stopped  _ shouting _ in my karking ear, Skirata.”

“You little--”

“Is this real?” Walon felt himself dangerously close to tears, a feeling he’d effectively avoided since he was eight years old, his voice choking up. “Are you here?”

Gloved hands trembling, Skirata reached out for him, but didn’t touch, as if there was something holding him back. “Of course this is real, Walon. Can I…?” He gestured tentatively towards Walon’s bruised body, expression full of conflicting emotions. “I need to get those binders off.”

“Yeah… Yes. Kal, I--”

“Shhh,” Skirata hushed Walon softly, his hands gentle, but  _ welcome _ , as he worked to free Walon’s arms. With that done, Walon tried to shift to his feet, but almost immediately collapsed into Skirata’s waiting arms.

It was too much: the concern in Skirata’s eyes, the careful way he handled Walon as if he were something precious to be protected. The warm wetness on his cheeks took a moment to register as Walon struggled to take heaving breaths, words slipping out before he could filter them as he normally would. “You came… why? Why did you come back? For me? Why would you come for me?”

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” The words were practically whispered as Skirata held Walon tightly to his chest, arms shaking. “We made a promise, Walon. And I intend to keep it, if you’ll have me.”

“Yes. Yes, Kal. Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” Walon couldn’t help the second wave of tears as he clung desperately to Kal. “Please, please.”

“I’ve got you, cyare,” Kal murmured, gently guiding Walon up to his feet and supporting him as they made their shaky way towards the door. “Let’s go home.”

\--

Kal had never liked hospitals. As he made his way through the pristine halls, he ran another mental checklist to distract himself. Bralor was on babysitting duty, with  _ express _ instructions not to discuss things that were not her kriffing business with the boys, and Mird was fed and watered. He’d submitted his report to Krom the night before, veins filled with too much adrenaline to sleep. After running out of things to use as an excuse, Bralor had practically tossed him out of the house with orders to get his shebs to the hospital and kriffing  _ talk _ .

Double-checking the room number, Kal took a moment to center himself before keying the door open. Inside, the room was sparsely decorated: just a bed, side-table, chair, and medical equipment cart. Walon was lying on the bed, eyes closed and expression relaxed and almost peaceful. Thinking perhaps that he better not disturb him, Kal turned to go, but froze when a slightly hoarse voice said, “What? No gentle bedside confessions? Not even a kiss? And here I thought we were married.”

“Walon…” Kal spun back around, watching with chest tight as Walon shifted into a sitting position, the blanket falling away to show the crisscross of bandages across his chest. The sight of the bandages made Kal’s stomach twist, knowing the partially healed Death Watch sigil they hid.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. No need for tears, Skirata.”

_ This impossible chakaar… _ “Walon, we need to talk.”

The atmosphere seemed to shift, the air between them heavier than before in a way that was full of terror and anticipation all at once. For perhaps the first time since they’d met, Walon regarded Kal with an expression completely devoid of that sarcastic mask he wore so often. Instead, he fixed Kal with a serious look, colored slightly by a nervousness that Kal had never seen before in the other man. “I guess we should. Care to sit?”

Quickly closing the door, Kal pulled the chair up alongside the bed, as close as he dared, so that he and Walon were eye to eye. Now that they were here, Kal wasn’t quite sure what to say, so many emotions roiling around inside of him, he felt fit to burst. “Walon, I--”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wh-What?”

“I’m sorry,” Walon repeated, gaze not quite meeting Kal’s. “I didn’t think you would come for me. I… hoped you wouldn’t. To be honest, I’m still not sure why you did, I’m certainly not worth the effort. But I want to thank you and apologize for putting you in unnecessary danger.”

“You… You really believe that’s true. Don’t you…” A feeling Kal had become intimately familiar with over the past few years curled in his gut, but now, he felt he understood it. Reaching out for Walon’s hand, he asked, “May I?” Walon responded with a raised eyebrow and a nod, allowing Kal to take his hand in a gentle but purposeful hold. “Walon,” he began, thinking back to his conversation with Krom the day before and her recommendation that he try to look past his anger and frustration towards Walon in order to address his true feelings, “We’ve known each other for… years. I know we haven’t always gotten along…”

Walon snorted, shaking his head, but with an almost sentimental smile on his face. “Always one for understatement, Skirata.”

“Hey, cut me some slack. I’m new to all this and I’m trying to be nice for once.” Surprisingly, Walon seemed content to let Kal continue without interruption. “Anyway, these last few years. Probably since we were on Coruscant, actually, I’ve been trying to… deal with unfamiliar feelings. Feelings for  _ you _ . At first, I thought I was just angry with you, and in some ways that’s true, but it’s not the whole truth. You’re a cocky, infuriating chakaar most days and you know better than anyone how to get under my skin. I couldn’t stand the way you had a different face, a different voice, for every new group of people we met. Like you could just shed your skin and become someone else. I was so sure that whatever version of you lived down under all those layers must be someone truly terrible.

“But I was wrong. It wasn’t that I was angry, I was frustrated. Because there were days when that version of you, the  _ real _ Walon Vau, would claw his way through. And I realized that you’re honorable and kind and perceptive. You’re compassionate and observant and loving. And once I realized, once I let myself accept that the Walon Vau I had spent so long hating wasn’t Walon Vau at all… I just couldn’t hate you anymore.” Kal paused, trying to hold back tears, years of emotion welling up all at once and threatening to overwhelm him. Through it all, he held Walon’s hand, grounding himself in the realness, the warmth of that hand, and the strength in his grip. “Walon, I know I can’t ever truly understand what you’ve been through, what your life has been like, but I know one thing.

“There will  _ never _ be a day when I think you’re not worth going back for. I will always have your back, even… even if you want to annul the marriage.” Now Kal could feel his cheeks flushing as he crossed into more uncomfortable territory. “You’re the best man I know, Walon. A fierce and honorable warrior. And even if you never believe yourself to have inherent worth, I will. Ratiin.” Little speech done, Kal fell silent, swallowing nervously as he watched Walon process everything he had said. It was terrifying to be so open and vulnerable with someone, but Kal knew that they couldn’t continue the way they had been. Not now, after all they’d been through.

Time seemed to pass painfully slow, but Kal didn’t push, continuing to hold Walon’s hand as the other man stared at the place where his free hand sat in his lap. Eventually, Walon shifted, gaze lifting to meet Kal’s, and Kal was shocked to see the sheen of unshed tears there. The effect was stunning, making the gold of his eyes shimmer with a unique beauty. It took another few moments for Walon to find his words, but eventually he began, “I spent so long walling myself off from everyone and everything. It was easier. If I didn’t react to my father’s anger or my mother’s fury, it would pass more quickly. Emotions, trust… they were weaknesses. I don’t think I ever told you why I left Irmenu.”

Kal shook his head, giving Walon’s hand a supportive squeeze.

Walon glanced away, eyes unfocusing slightly as if he were looking at something far away. “I was thirteen the first time my father caught me with another boy. I don’t think I’d ever been beaten so badly in my life. I didn’t understand why he was so angry. I knew I’d done something  _ wrong _ , clearly, but I’d never seen him enraged  _ like that _ . The way he looked at me… Usually he was dismissive, his anger coming from disappointment that I hadn’t met some unspoken expectation of his. But that time? My father looked at me like I was the most revolting thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

“For the next two years, my mother took me to the Imperius Cathedral every day to be ‘cleansed.’ They started arranging for me to spend time with the daughters of other aristocrats. My father even locked me in a room with a terrified servant girl and essentially ordered me to rape her to ‘put things right.’ It was a nightmare. When I turned fifteen, I was required to attend an official event to introduce me into society as my father’s heir. Naturally, he was not pleased with this, but he would have rather cut off his own arm rather than snub social decorum. The event was boring, all things considered, but I met another young man who had come of age that same year and we began a… friendship of sorts. He was a prince, of a slightly higher station than myself, which was the only reason my father allowed the friendship to continue. It gained him social standing and was therefore ‘acceptable.’ But, as I’m sure you can imagine, our friendship… became something altogether different.

“The night we were discovered together was the last night I ever saw my family. In order to preserve the good name of the prince, I had to… disappear. My father saw fit to beat me within an inch of my life, well past the point of falling unconscious. When I woke up, I was for all intents and purposes, the property of a sea captain. The time I spent on that merchant ship were… hard. I remained on that ship for a year and a half, at the beck and call of every man down to the lowliest cabin boy, for whatever service they might need. Needless to say, I do not have any fond memories of that ship. Nor was I particularly heartbroken when the vessel was attacked by pirates. In fact, I helped a few of them lay the charges that sent that accursed lump of wood to the depths.

“From that point, I spent another year with the pirate crew. That’s when I learned most of my combat skills. I’m not sure if you’ve had the chance to see me work a blade, but I’m a fair swordsman, if I do say so myself. Eventually, however, I felt the need to move on and the captain was more than accommodating. They dropped me at port and I booked passage on the first starfreighter off planet. The rest, I suppose you know.”

“Walon, I--”

“I don’t want your pity. I just want you to have enough context to, perhaps, understand. I spent years being forced to utterly smother any emotions. The first time I let myself love someone ended… horribly. I know that you didn’t have a kind childhood by any means, but I also know that you were instilled with a sense of belonging, of trust and support, and I… I don’t know that I’ve ever trusted anyone in my life. I-I don’t know if I  _ can _ trust anyone.” Walon’s voice cracked towards the end of his sentence, breath tight and eyes gleaming with tears threatening to fall. Turning back, he locked eyes with Kal, expression determined. “But I  _ want _ to, Kal. I want to trust you more than I think I’ve wanted anything in my life.”

At that moment, eyes locked and hands gripping each other with knuckles white, Kal felt at peace. Smiling softly, he simply said, “Okay. Okay, let’s do that.”

Unable to find words, Walon simply nodded, several tears finally escaping as he smiled. Nodding almost to himself, Walon lifted their clasped hands, pressing a dry-lipped kiss to Kal’s knuckles and almost inaudibly whispering, “Okay.”

\--

This time of year, the Oyu’baat had a number of tables set up outside the front windows, makeshift umbrellas set up to shield patrons from the summer sun while they enjoyed their drinks outside. Walon was sitting at one such table, leaning back in the chair with one leg crossed over the other, expression neutral and exuding an air of haughty confidence that would have Kal swatting him upside the head as soon as he returned. As if thinking his name summoned the man, Kal appeared at the door of the tapcaf, two glasses of tihaar in hand. True to form, as soon as he set them down on the table and made himself comfortable, Kal jabbed Walon sharply in the arm, grumbling, “You look like a shabla fool. Quit posing and take your drink. Manda knows this’ll never happen again.”

Walon smirked, gracefully picking up one of the glasses and taking a conciliatory sip. Earlier that day, he’d been officially released from the hospital and Kal had  _ insisted _ on buying him a drink to celebrate. Interestingly, however, he had also told Walon to meet him at the Oyu’baat instead of the hospital itself, mentioning that there was something he’d been meaning to give to Walon. Glancing down at the polyweave bag at Kal’s feet, Walon leaned back in his chair once more, fixing Kal with his favorite irritating smirk. “So, Kal’ika, what is this secret gift you brought me? Something shiny? A new blaster, perhaps?”

As predicted, Kal glared at him, taking a long draw of his drink before reaching down for the bag. “Why are you like this? I try and do one nice thing, and this is the thanks I get…” Reaching into the bag, he produced a folded piece of flimsi, sliding it across the table. “We’ll start with that, since you decided you’re going to be a little shit about it.”

Curious, Walon reached out, carefully unfolding the flimsi to see a carefully, if inexpertly, drawn strill with two presumably human figures beside it. Each figure was labeled in a shaky hand clearly unused to writing Basic: Mirr’ika, Ba’Vaodu, Jaing. Walon couldn’t help the way his smile softened, chuckling as he noted the copious drool pouring from Mird’s lopsided grin. “I see Jaing has become quite the artist.”

“He was very particular that I tell you that he wants you to put it on your conservator and that Jaing would like to keep Mird, and I quote, ‘forever and ever and ever and ever.’”

“Hmm. Well, I can certainly acquiesce to the first request, but Jaing will have to wait until I’m dead and gone before he can keep Mird that long.” The joke landed a little awkwardly, and both men took long sips to cover their mutual discomfort.

“Right, ah, anyway,” Kal digressed, reaching back into the bag, “I’ve been holding onto this until you were able to wear it again, so… here.”

Walon froze, watching in disbelief as Kal pulled familiar black beskar’gam from the bag, each piece stacked carefully on the table between them. Reaching forward, unable to keep his hands from shaking, Walon brushed his fingers along the painted steel, completely lost for words.

Apparently uncomfortable with Walon’s extended silence, Kal rubbed at the back of his neck, saying, “I saw it when we were making our way out of Priest’s ship and had Bralor grab it. Would’ve been wrong to leave it behind.”

“Kal… How… I don’t even know how to repay you… Vor entye.”

“You forged that armor with your own hands, Walon. You don’t owe me anything.”

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, Walon holding his buy’ce reverently. It had been a long week of recovery for Walon, both physically and mentally. After that first afternoon, when he had finally opened himself up to Kal, even just a little, they’d made a promise to continue working towards the trust they both craved. Kal had come every day, sometimes talking with Walon and sometimes just sitting in silence. They still had a long way to go, but Walon felt that for the first time in his life, he was unrepentantly happy and that so much of that was thanks to this irritating, amazing man sitting in front of him. Without hesitation, Walon set his buy’ce aside, sitting up a little straighter in his chair as he reached out and took Kal’s hand.

“I want to do this right, this time. Not young and drunk, not terrified. Like this, just like this. Kal, mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.”

“You’re such a dramatic, chakaar.” Kal chuckled, soft smile on his face as he squeezed Walon’s hand a little tighter and pulled him forward to press their foreheads together in a proper Mando’ade kiss. “Walon, mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.”


End file.
